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Nashville – Salvaged Faith

Unrecognizeable

As we sit here this morning and think about feasting with the saints, I’m thinking about eating a honey and butter sandwich with my grandpa, my Deda.  I’m Czech, you know, and my Babi and Deda were big parts of my life growing up.

He was a really quiet sort of guy.  He didn’t say much unless you had spent an hour or two shelling walnuts with him at the kitchen table.  Every so often, you would get a story out of him about peeling potatoes in the Korean War or about a neighbor down the street.  He also loved to make up stories and when I was little he had all sorts of silly tales that he would tell us.

In October of 2006, my dad’s dad, my grandpa, my Deda, passed away. It was a long and slow and painful process – with diabetes doing a number on his body and its ability to heal itself. I was living in Nashville at the time, attending seminary, but it was fall break and he was still with us, so I went home to see him.

I got to spend an entire day in the hospital with Deda. It was probably the best day that he had had in a long time. The Hawkeyes were playing that morning and he was aware of the game and together we watched them win. Five or six of us were gathered in the room and he would try to talk, but his throat was sore and ravaged from the breathing tube that had been there. He grunted and moaned, tried to tell us things, but mostly we just held his hand and tried our best to understand. The next day wasn’t nearly so good and the next evening he passed away. Because of my break from school, I was able to be there not only for the funeral, but also stay farther into the week.

Because I was, you know, the seminary student, I did a lot of care-giving during that time.  I gave one of the eulogies at the funeral.  I sat in with my dad and uncles and aunt as they planned the service. I helped to decorate the funeral home ( complete with stalks of corn, pumpkins and gourds). I sat with my Babi.

It felt so good to be home and surrounded by my family during that time, but I remember the hardest part of it was going back to Nashville. Going back to a place where no one knew my grandfather, or even that he had been that sick. Going back to a place where no one knew that he had died or what a gaping hole was left in my life.

But I hadn’t missed any classes because of how the break fell. I didn’t have to call any professors about making up a test or getting the notes from lecture. Everyone had been gone, so there was no reason to notice I was gone.

And so I didn’t tell anyone. I kept my grief to myself. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to put myself out there and be greeted by all of the condolences and “I’m sorry’s” right then, so I hid it all. I don’t think I really wanted to be left alone – but I was somehow embarrassed by my grief.  I felt like I had done an okay job of caring for everyone else and I could probably care for myself too.  I guess I thought that I could handle it on my own.

As long as I’m being honest, I’ve always had this attitude that says, “I can do it myself!” Whether it is putting something together or cooking a new recipe, or, as it turns out, grieving – I’ve always wanted to figure out my own way of doing something. Like I know better than how countless people have done it in the past or will continue to do it in the future.

Our whole culture it seems has that do-it-yourself mentality. We are expected to be strong, resourceful, and even if we don’t have it all figured out – with the right tools, or YouTube video, we should be able to do-it-ourselves.

But you see, the problem is, we were not made to do things ourselves.

It is exactly when we are down and out that we are more in tune with what it really means to be part of the body of Christ.

Christ tells us that it is precisely our places of vulnerability that we will find the promise of God being fulfilled.

The world may think that being vulnerable means you are weak and you can’t cut it, but in the strange and wonderful ways of God, our vunerability is the source of our greatest blessings.

Hear again some those very familiar words of the Beatitudes, but through the Message translation of the bible:

You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are-no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.

You’re blessed when you care. At the moment of being ‘care-full,’ you find yourselves cared for.

You’re blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That’s when you discover who you really are, and your place in God’s family.

Not only that-count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable.

The world gets uncomfortable around us, because they don’t understand the Kingdom that Jesus came to proclaim, the kingdom full of good news for the poor, freedom for captives, and comfort for those that mourn.

We have been blessed, precisely because of our vulnerability. We have been the poor, the down and out, we have grieved, we have struggled for peace. And we are blessed, because every step of the way, Jesus has been by our side.

The world can’t comprehend the love God has for us and the love we have for one another. And a big part of that love we share is the trust and belief that we can be vulnerable with one another. Our love is the most powerful, when we share our lives with one another, when we are honest about our weaknesses and our need for healing and love and grace.

And yet, that is precisely why the world doesn’t recognize Jesus. It is why the world doesn’t know him. Caught up in our bravado, believing we can do it on our own, John writes in his letter that the world can’t see the love God has for us. If the world can’t understand that love, they it can’t understand why the poor and the brokenhearted would be blessed.

And I experienced this. I tried to grieve on my own when my grandfather died. But I realized I couldn’t do it myself when I back our car into a parking barrier after church the first Sunday I returned to Nashville.

I was actually so anxious about getting away from the church where everyone seemed so happy and whose lives seemed to be so together that I wasn’t paying attention and clipped the parking barrier.

If I had been just an ordinary person of the world, I probably would never have gone back into that church. I would have backed my car out, gone straight to the repair shop, and would have continued quietly carrying my burden. I wouldn’t have known, I wouldn’t have recognized the love God has for us. I would have believed all of those happy people inside of that church building were strange and out of touch and in my grief, I didn’t belong.

But, I worked in that church and for half a second remembered that it was exactly because it was full of strange people that I loved it and them. Those peope inside that building were not perfect. They were happy and blessed precisely because they refused to handle their problems on their own.

I carefully shifted the car back into drive and parked it back in the spot. I got out and I walked back inside. I would deal with the car later. I sat down on the couch in my friend’s office and I just cried. And I finally let someone else be there for me. And I was overwhelmed by the love that community demonstrated.

The church – this body of Christ – should be a place where any and all of us can stand up at any time and freely share our lives with one another. It should be a place where each of us can trust that those joys and concerns and struggles will be heard faithfully and held onto sacredly – that they will be gently placed into God’s hands and that together we will weep, together we will laugh, together we will learn to forgive and live a new way.

That is why our lives are unrecognizeable. It is why we seem so strange to the rest of the world.

So many of the saints that we lift up this morning were those strange and unrecognizeable and wonderful people. They gave so much of their lives to this church and to other people.

You know their stories far better than I do.

You know how they loved one another.

You know how they shepherded the church through adversity.

You know how they leaned on one another in difficult times.

You learned from them what it means to be strange and unrecognizeable… what it means to be blessed.

And from them, we have learned how to share those blessings to others.

I’ve heard this saying many times in my life – when you share joy, you double it, when you share a burden, you cut it in half.

That is what community is for, that is what the body of Christ is for – to help you to carry your burdens and your joys.

Being a part of community means being vulnerable with one another, but the strength of the body of Christ is shown when we do whatever we can through God’s power to overcome that weakness.

And we can do so because we know death is not the end. Because we believe that sickness is not a curse. Because we have faith in the power of the resurrection and because we have seen miracles. We have felt the power of prayer. We know what hope truly is.

The saints we celebrate today are part of the people of God and present with us in this very room as we break bread and feast at the heavenly banquet.

And that is why this place and this people are so strange and wonderful.

my very own cohort… #reverb10

Still catching up on the 31 reverb10 prompts from the month of December.  Little by little, I will get through them all!!!
So tomorrow, we start with our first monthly gathering of 2011.  We are looking at Carol Howard Merritt’s “Reframing Hope.” (I wrote some about it yesterday)  I can’t wait to continue the conversations and to meet some of the new folks who will be joining us for the first time!  Plus, Fusion has this Maccu Piccu Mocha that is absolutely to-die-for.  Totally yummy. (just saying.)

December 7 – Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011? (Author: Cali Harris)

In the last year, a new group of conversation partners have begun meeting in Eastern Iowa.  In some ways, it started with connections made at the JoPa Theological Conversation with Jurgen Moltmann back in 2009.  A few of us realized – hey, there are Iowa folks here! And we committed to gather more locally and chat.

I also recieved an email from a guy who wanted to start talking about emergent theology/church themes near the beginning of that year.  We live nearby and a coffee shop conversation began.

Since those initial plans, the Eastern Iowa Emergent Cohort was rebirthed.  I’m not sure who started it, or who was involved, but the conversation had gone silent for a while.  But we have some new faces, some new energy and last year planned three face-to-face conversations.

It has been so strange for me to enter these emergent conversations, because I am what Carol Howard Merritt calls a “loyal radical.”  I am firmly planted in the tradition and I wouldn’t leave it for the world, but there are facets of the emergent movement that so speak to me. The deep sense of community, the diffusion of authority, the importance of communal discernment, the focus on a rule or way of life, the place for questions, etc.  There aren’t a lot of places to talk about that either in the hierarchical church (although I am making those connections) or in the local congregation I serve. And to be honest, I have not come into the community through traditional venues like blogs and books either.  I kind of just discovered it on my own and then sought words to explain what I was thinking/feeling.

You see, I first was introduced to the entire idea of emergent theology and postmodernism back in Nashville, Tennessee.  I can still remember walking down the sidewalk with Kay Hereford Voorhees and learning all about postmodern theology on a sunny afternoon.  I was working at a large, very traditional, uptown church that had this little quirky group of folks who were exploring other ways of being faithful.  We began an emergent worship service before we even quite realized what we were doing.  We had an intimate and holy community of faithful folks who weekly walked with one another.  I miss that group of folks VERY MUCH!!!

As I prepared to move back to Iowa, I knew what a gap would be left in my life, and so this blog was an attempt to fill that gap. But I also longed for the types of conversations having through cohorts meeting at the Flying Saucer in Nashville, or the Emerging UMC (version 1) event we had. Iowa seemed like a barren landscape, void of partners.  Boy was I wrong.

This new community is a breath of fresh air.  It is a chance to ask questions and wrestle with folks who think the way I do… and find themselves in congregations like mine.  Some of us maintain contact on twitter or facebook, but these three gatherings have turned into a desire to have a more frequent relational contact.

First Mission Trip

In about 20 hours, we leave for my first youth mission trip… as an adult that is. I’m excited, nervous, hoping I have all of my i’s dotted and t’s crossed, but I’m also absolutely positive that I have forgotten something major.

I’m not a details person. I am a big picture person. I am an optimist. And so I plan the big stuff and just pray the details sort themselves out. Which makes people crazy. Like my mom and husband in the weeks before our wedding. Or people at the church when a big event is coming up. The details are better left to other people. They aren’t my strength.

That being said – we are using group workcamps to do the details for us. They have given me a list. I think all my boxes are checked! I have things printed out and in a binder. I think I’m ready.

Now I just need your prayers. Prayers for safe driving… especially since it has been a while since I have driven a 15 passenger van. Prayers for our 5 kids and two adults going. Prayers for all of those we will serve this week. Prayers for the 100 people total who will be on the trip. Prayers for all of those who lead us. Keep praying!!!

officially graduated and stuff…

well, officially, I guess, I’m finished with school. Graduation at Vanderbilt was this friday, but I didn’t head back to Tennessee for the ceremony. I’m not exactly sure why not, other than it was going to be kind of expensive to go. And I knew that this week would be busy with events at the church. And then, lo and behold, I end up having two funerals to do that very same day. So it was good that I was here, but for some reason, as I look over the pictures of my friends and colleagues celebrating, I’m sad.

I’m sad that I didn’t make the effort to go down there for that once in a lifetime opportunity. I’m sad that I missed seeing all of those friends again, because part of me just realized that they are all heading to their respective homes and jobs and they won’t be in Nashville for me to go back to again. I don’t know why – but I guess part of me thought if I don’t see them now, I’ll find another time. But that’s not the case. It just doesn’t work that way.

It’s hard to have closure on graduation and all of that too when I haven’t actually recieved my diploma yet. I don’t know if it got lost in the mail or if there is something wrong, but I never got it after I finished in December. I really need to figure out what happened there (I did move after all). I just don’t feel like i have celebrated the fact that I am finished – but with birthday’s and everyone else’s graduations and mother’s day and memorial day and all of that, I’m feeling like it’s a little late and I should have done something in December…

I guess I’m throwing myself a little pity party right now. I didn’t think I would regret it at all. I thought it was fine. But now my heart is heavy.

walking by radnor lake

I tend to not be very observant. I’m just not detail oriented and so I miss the little things (like when brandon shaves and it takes me a few hours to realize it, or potholes in the road). I guess you could say that I’m so obsessed with the forest that I miss the trees (and the underbrush and the bugs and the animals)

Lately, people around me have been sharing how much they experience God out in nature, and while that is sort of true for me, I don’t have monumental experiences in the wood or by a lake or whatever. I experience God much more through other people.

I was floored yesterday when I went for a hike with my friend, Nate. At first, it felt like any nature hike I normally embark upon – my eyes staring at the ground, watching for rocks or roots, glancing up whenever I hear a strange sound.

The path that we were on was incredibly soft and well marked, and gradually I got my confidence up and began to just look all around me. I saw nate touching the trees as he passed and thought to myself- wow – why don’t I do that? why don’t I get so close I can feel the life all around me. I began appreciating the fact that my chacos allowed me to feel the soft dirt and bark between my toes. I began touching leaves.

It soon began to rain. But under that cover of all those trees, it was just amazing. we were slightly wet to be sure – the air probably couldn’t have held any more humidity – but we really weren’t being rained on. And the drumming of thousands of raindrops above us was beautiful.

And then we began to see the deer. Now, I live in a wooded area in Iowa – and so I know all about deer. But I have never seen deer as tame as this or as close as this. We walked for an hour and a half and saw almost 10 adult deer, and at least 6 fawns. And they would be right by the path! we were probably less than 10 feet from some of the fawns who were eating the tender green foliage right by the side of the path.

At one point, we saw a doe and two fawns on the hillside right beside the path and they were gradually coming down the hill, so we stopped. Those two fawns just kept coming slowly, moving their way down towards us (and also probably heading for the lake on the other side of the path). The doe disappeared from sight, and while the fawns kept looking around, they also kept coming. They made an arc to keep their distance but eventually were standing right in front of us on the path. We were crouched on the path, when one of the fawns begins to slowly, cautiously walk towards us. And it only got so close before it began to get a little jittery and turned back. But then the other one had to do the same, and go a bit farther to show its sibling up. I cannot believe how close, how brave, how daring that little fawn was. And all at once it was startled by something and took off sprinting in the other direction.

Walking in the park, with someone who has a deep spiritual affinity with nature, really opened my eyes to everything that was around me. The world was alive all around me and it was okay to walk slowly, stop if necessary, to take it all in. I think that I still, for whatever reason, have more sense of connection with the dirt than with the trees looming above me. I feel like I can get down into the dirt and plant something and watch it grow, rather than touch or look up and see a being that has been there for a hundred years. Maybe that says something about my calling or my experience of nature to this point as a farmer’s daughter. But I didn’t know that the way I know it know. The ground. The roots. They beg for my attention. But i also got to appreciate on this walk the things that they nourish, sustain and support. that that was a beautiful thing.